


Chrysalis

by sciencebutch



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996), Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: "i hate gender all my homies said fuck gender" - the doctor, Drabble, Gen, LETS GO LESBIANS, bill meets eight, i just wanted them to meet ok., she just makes it so them and their companions never meet, this is based off the hc that the tardis is the same for all the doctors, until now :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25705423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebutch/pseuds/sciencebutch
Summary: Bill goes wandering through the TARDIS after the Doctor tells her to stay put.She comes across a very peculiar person during her adventure.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor & Bill Potts, The Doctor & Bill Potts, Twelfth Doctor & Bill Potts
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i use she/her pronouns for four yes she's a lesbian. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: i got inspired and wrote this in one sitting which is why there are so many errors. also i havent seen twelve and bill's season(s) in a while so if they're ooc thats why. if eight is ooc i have no excuse he's all i think about

Bill was wandering around the TARDIS, because the Doctor had told her to stay put. 

She tried not to make a habit of directly disobeying him, but there’s a limit to how long she can sit in an armchair and watch the Doctor levitate before she grows quite bored indeed. That limit had been surpassed after twenty minutes, and Bill had figured - hoped, rather - that his current trend of staying still in his meditation-trance-whatever would continue until she got back from her little bout of exploration.

The thing is, Bill has hardly explored any of the TARDIS at all, and she was very curious about its contents, for the Doctor had said there were infinite rooms. She’d been in her bedroom, of course - a quaint room with plush carpeting, a desk (for her to write her essays on, the Doctor had said), a bookshelf, and fairy lights galore - the kitchens, the library, and on one memorable occasion, Nardole’s room, but that was it. A small fraction of infinity, she figured. 

She’d already come across an aquarium, a croquet court, a pool, and a swamp that she thinks had at one point been a pool, before she entered the butterfly room, which is where she’s been for the past hour.

It was an interminable field of tall grass and wildflowers: clusters of baby’s breath, stalks of hyacinths, bubbles of bluebells, marigolds, pansies, daisies, roses, and countless other flora Bill can’t even begin to name (she reckoned some of them are alien, which makes sense, she supposed) in every shade of the visible spectrum. 

Even more colorful than the flowers were the butterflies. They soared in gusts and whirlwinds, coalescing in kaleidoscopic flocks that nearly made Bill dizzy just looking at them. There were so many, in fact, that their wingbeats were audible, like tiny heartbeats. 

At first, she was rather afraid she’d step on one, but it became quite apparent that they were very adept at not being squashed - a very good skill set to have, when one is a butterfly. Despite this, she tread very carefully through bushes of hydrangeas and asters and poppies before laying down in the lavender. They were one of her favorite scents, and she inhaled it deeply, staring up at the clouds of color, holding her hands up to act as perches, laughing at the tickling sensation of many pairs of tiny legs walking across her skin. 

Then Bill realized that it had been a while since she’d set off, and sat up suddenly. The butterflies dispersed at the sudden movement, before coming back to rest on her shoulders. She looked at her phone for the time, saw that an hour had passed, stood up, dusted her clothes off, walked with purpose (not running outright - she was still worried about squishing the Doctor’s butterflies) towards the exit, and left. 

To find herself in a completely different corridor than the one she had entered from. 

The walls were a deep mahogany traced with an elaborate trim, with lit oil lamp sconces every meter or so. The floor was covered in worn Axeminster carpeting. 

The interior design was very different to the halls she was used to: steel gray with warm orange lighting that made the metal walls not seem so cold. 

Bill blinked, shocked.

Maybe if I go back into the butterfly room it’ll go back to normal, she thought, and turned around to find that the door is gone.

Bill doesn’t panic, but she does freak out a little. There’s a difference.

She was rather reminded of the myth of the Labyrinth - something the Doctor had made her read: it was a maze built to imprison the minotaur, a monster who was half human, half bull. Apparently, the structure was so confusing that the guy who designed it, Daedalus-something-or-other, could barely escape.

Bill wondered for a second if she’s the minotaur in this scenario, or Daedalus. 

Then she decided it’s not worth thinking about and looked down both sides of the corridor. To her right, the hallway ended in a large, ornate door. To her left, the hallway didn’t end at all. 

She went right. 

The door wasn’t as heavy as it looks, which was a relief. It led into another version of the console room, which she knew because there was a console in the center of it. That’s where the resemblance between it and her version of the console room stopped, however. 

There were shelves upon shelves of books and bric a brac and knick knacks, layers of Persian rugs stacked up and layered over each other, various crushed velvet armchairs. There was a corner with only clocks, ticking out a disjointed beat. In another corner, there’s a purple buggy, covered in potted plants and stacks of paper. The ceiling was transparent, or maybe a hologram of sorts, showing off the night sky. An ancient looking record player stuttered over Clair de Lune, skipping every other measure. 

Bill walked over to it and fixed the needle. 

Then someone spoke, and Bill jumped. 

“Thank you for that,” the voice said, “There’s certainly a limit as to how many times one can hear those particular notes over and over before getting quite tired of them. Mine was surpassed about an hour ago.” 

It didn’t sound like Nardole, nor the Doctor. Did someone else live in the TARDIS? Did they get lost like she did? 

Bill said something very eloquent in response:

“Uh.”

A man emerged from behind the purple car, carrying a book that’s at least a foot thick. He’s very flamboyantly dressed, Bill noticeed, with an outfit straight out of the Victorian era, back when every man was at least slightly homosexual. The look of the ensemble was heightened by bouncing chestnut curls that just reach his shoulders, and a tasteful amount of blue eyeshadow. 

He slammed the book down on an end table and blew the dust off.

“Who are you?” Bill asked. 

“I figured it should be obvious, considering you’re in my ship.” 

“I thought it was the Doctor’s ship.” Although, he did steal it. Bill thought. Maybe he’s the guy he stole it from. Oh my God - is he a hostage? A stowaway?

“Exactly,” the man responded, then shot her a Look. His eyes were piercing and clever and they swirled in such a way that made it seem like they were sentient. 

Bill squinted. She’s seen those eyes before. They had been brown, of course, but there was the same depth to them here. “I’m about to say something that could be very stupid,” she started.

“Thank you for the warning.” he replied graciously.

“Are you... the Doctor?” she finished, hesitating a bit.

A smile stretched his cheeks. He had very pointy canines. “I am.”

“Oh,” Bill said. “You look different.”

“I expect I do.”

“Like really different, like a different person different.” 

“Makes sense.” 

Bill tried to think of an explanation. She couldn’t puzzle one out. “...How?”

“Well, I’ve probably regenerated since I’ve met you. Or I’ve gotten a ton of plastic surgery, but I highly doubt it - such an inclination has never come over me.” 

“What’s that?”

“Plastic surgery?” he asked as he opened the thick tome he’d brought over. 

“No, the first thing.”

He flipped through a few pages and made a distasteful look, as if the book contained something blatantly untrue. “Regeneration? It’s a biological ability Gallifreyans - my people - have; when we’re dying, our cells rewrite our DNA, giving us new bodies - and personalities, to an extent.”

“You turn into a new person?”

“In a sense.” 

Bill went and sat in the armchair next to the side table with the book on it. The Doctor glanced at her, and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the book.

“TARDIS manual,” he said disdainfully. 

“Why’s it a book?”

The Doctor shut it with no degree of gentleness. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you have this ship that’s bigger on the inside with all this fancy technology and yet your manual is a book. Why isn’t it on a screen or something? Even we have that sorta thing.”

“Ah, that’s simple,” he said, picking it up. 

“What?”

“It’s so I can use it to prop open vents,” he put it down in front of a shelf, “And use it to reach things, of course.”

“That’s as good a use as any, I suppose.” Bill said, swinging her legs over the arm of the chair and leaning back. “Have you read it?” 

“Of course not,” he huffed, offended. His voice was strained somewhat, as he was stretching to reach the top shelf, upon which rested a cup and saucer. 

“That makes sense,” her version of the Doctor could barely drive the TARDIS, it’s only reasonable to conclude he’s never read the manual. “Is this your first body?” 

“Nope,” he managed to get the cup, and he hopped down from the book, “It’s my eighth.”

Bill wondered what number her Doctor was on. “Can you turn into a woman?”

She asked it out of sheer curiosity. That’s the only reason.

“It’s possible, yes.” 

“Have you?” 

“My fourth incarnation was the closest to what you consider a woman, I suppose,” he said, “I never really understood humans and their infatuation with the gender binary.” 

“Me neither.” 

He plopped down in the arm chair across from her. On the coffee table there sat a pot of tea, still steaming. He poured her some into the cup he’d acquired. “Good. Here -” he handed it to her, and she took a moment to admire the design. Opalescent with a golden trim. “It’s jasmine.” 

She took a cautious first sip to judge its temperature. Finding that her taste buds were very much intact and not burned off, she drinks more. “It’s good.” 

“Isn’t it? It’s from China, during the Ming Dynasty.”

Bill hummed, not really sure how to respond to that. 

“So, Bill,” he said as he puts his cup down on a saucer, “How long have we been travelling together?” 

Bill thought. “Like a month? It’s hard to tell.” A realization hits her, then. “Wait - won’t this mess with the timelines or something? Us meeting?”

“Hardly.” He tapped his temple. “I’ll just suppress these memories. They’ll come back once you return to your time.”

Bill nodded, then jolted. She drained her teacup and stood up. “I need to get back. He - you told me not to wander off because he had to do something, but he was just sort of levitating quietly for a while and I got bored and wandered off anyway.”

“Alright,” the Doctor responded. “The door is - well, you know where the door is. The TARDIS will help you get back to your respective time.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, “Well. Goodbye then.”

“Goodbye, Bill Potts. See you soon.” he winked.

Her face widened into a grin. “Yeah.” 

After Bill left, the Doctor’s face turned thoughtful. 

“Levitating, hm? I rather forgot I could do that.” 

Getting back to her console room was easy enough, because the TARDIS had decided to be nice and turn the halls back to their normal steel gray, and had blinked the lights to indicate which direction to go in. 

She shut the door quietly as she entered, not wanting to disturb the Doctor and let him know that she’d been absent. 

“Have fun?” he asked from the second floor, and she jumped. She walked forward so she could see him lean over the railing to look at her. 

“I was...going to the bathroom.”

“I didn’t know my old console room doubled as a toilet,” he said. Bill sighed.

“You remember?” 

“You’re back, aren’t you?” He descended the stairs and walked over to lean on the console. He crossed his arms at her. Bill mimicked him and did the same. “Well?” he asked expectantly, his eyebrows raising. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bill? I told you not to wander off.” 

Bill grinned hesitantly. “I...liked the butterfly garden?” 

The Doctor’s eyes darkened, as if a curtain had been drawn, before he turned away. “Good!” he said cheerfully, “I want an essay on the butterfly, fom the order Lepidoptera, and its relationship to philosophy,” Bill huffed. He looked at her intently. “I’ll give you a hint. Think of transformations, metamorphoses, from one form to another.”

“Doctor…” Bill complained. 

“It’s due by next week.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr!](%E2%80%9Ceightdoctor.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


End file.
